Aithusa's Silent Aria
by moriarty-for-queen-of-england
Summary: How Aithusa's once beautiful white scales became tainted by the pains of the mortal world. (Since Katie McGrath said that Aithusa is female in an interview, I will use it as such in the story – though Aithusa was once referred to as 'him' by Kilgarrah in series 4.)


She was so lonesome. Her companions' abandonment had left her days darkened with confusion. Aithusa—that was what he had called her, the skinny young man with black hair. _Father_. Aithusa's wings beat through the air. _Father_. Searching, in vain, for the man and the grown dragon.

What might have been sobs fell from her lips as she aimlessly flew through the kingdom, wishing with all her heart to find Kilgarrah—to find _anyone_ kind. She was a child, after all, and a child required a parent.

One day, Aithusa saw her. _Her_. A woman lay upon the ground, clutching her stomach desperately as if to press away the pain twisting beneath her hand. Aithusa was so lonely—and the woman looked lonely too. Aithusa recognised the terror in the woman's eyes, the same look which had dwelled in her own gaze. Searching, searching, but never finding.

Aithusa, still a child, descended before the woman. At such a close proximity, Aithusa saw how beautiful she was; but darkness shadowed her face and cried a silent song from her heart. But all Aithusa saw was her fear, the presence of unshed tears in her eyes; Aithusa's heart ached.

The little dragon leaned forward and exhaled in the direction of the woman's wound. When Aithusa straightened, she felt her heart's ache subside when the woman's smile befell her sight. There was no fear in her eyes, no pain, no sorrow; only elation, intertwined perhaps with a trace of shock.

A noise caught in Aithusa's throat; she wished to stay, with someone she had finally found, but her heart called for Kilgarrah and for him— _Father_. With one last glance in the woman's direction, Aithusa beat her wings and ascended into the air.

 _Father_. She called. _Father_.

Her screams were like banshee wails, but life still clung to her twisted form. _Father_. Desperation and terror – _true terror_ – was laced with every cry, each call piercing through the darkness, up and out into the world above, where all within the vicinity heard them—and though, feeling pity, their cruel hearts, tainted from the world, did not convince them to free her from the agony.

"Ssh, Aithusa. Dearest, don't cry."

Aithusa could not see her face, her beautiful, tainted eyes. Morgana's warmth was the lone comfort she possessed within that pit; but after the first year, Aithusa felt as if her own body was her cage. She yearned to feel the wind beneath her wings once more, to feel the sunlight warm her white scales.

There was nothing else she could do, trapped beneath the earth. And so she screamed.

 _Father_.

No sound ever passed her lips again. Aithusa could not tell Morgana how much she loved her. Her heart had never ceased aching, not even after she was liberated from the pit alongside Morgana. Her body was in constant agony, too; but her heart's pain hurt the most.

 _Friend._ Aithusa watched Morgana's darkness sweep over the land, but the shadows within her soul never depleted; in fact, they grew and thrived with each passing day. _Friend_. Aithusa could not tell Morgana how much she loved her, but nor could she tell Morgana how much she hurt her. Morgana displayed her wroth to the world, but Aithusa could see past that—she could see Morgana's defeated heart. Morgana's shoulders were not slumped and bent entirely from exhaustion, there was melancholy in her frame too. So much, that she was drowning in it, and it was pushing her down to the ground, as if forcing her to an early grave.

Aithusa yearned for contentment—all she wanted was to tell Morgana how much she loved her, hoping, perhaps, that it would raise her from the murky, miserable future that awaited her down the present path.

Aithusa wanted her father.

And then one day she saw him.

"What happened?"

At last, she saw him again. The skinny man with black hair. It had been so long, too long. Aithusa had not considered that one day her heart would suffer any further. She bent her head in shame—as a hatchling, she had been so beautiful, _a miracle._ Now she was twisted from torture and her own melancholy. Abandoned. Confused. Sorrowful. Morgana's _friend_. Morgana had tried to kill _him_. _Aithusa had tried to kill him._ For Morgana. For her _friend_.

 _Father_.

"Who did this to you?" He bent down, his voice so gentle, so genuine. Aithusa wanted to call out to him, to tell him how much she had searched for him, how much she missed him. How much he hurt her. "I won't harm you."

 _Father_.

She tried, she really did. Her blue eyes were flooded with tears, but she dared not weep. Realisation dawned on the man's face.

"You can't speak."

 _Father!_

"Merlin!" a masculine voice called from afar.

 _Merlin. Father. Merlin._ _Father!_ _Friend. Morgana._ Panic swept through her and she jerked back. She glanced at him— _father; Merlin_. She had found him. He had found her. At last, they were together again.

"Go." His voice was laced with concern. He loved her. Aithusa's heart faltered. She shook her head and stepped toward him.

" _Go!_ " His forceful command pushed her away, but Aithusa knew he only wanted her to be safe. She wanted to cry. But she dared not. She wanted to stay. But she dared not.

 _Goodbye, father_. She would find him again, and he her.

The war was a raging storm, which swept through the kingdoms and carried away its men's lives. Aithusa's wings beat across the skies, searching, but in vain, for her friend. And for him— _Merlin_. Tears created trails down the dirt that smeared her face. Abandoned and alone once more—Aithusa would have wailed, if she could.

 _Morgana. Morgana. Morgana._

Dead. Aithusa found her friend lying in the dirt, her warmth seeped out of her body like her soul—cold and _gone_. Aithusa's tears rained down upon Morgana. Abandoned and alone once more.

Dead. That was what Aithusa wished to be. Her once white scales had been tainted by the world for too long. Death was a release from the mortal world's pain. Aithusa's heart no longer ached—it shattered.

"Aithusa?"

 _Father?_

He whispered her name as he had once done, long ago, within that cave where _he had found her_. But this time, he too held tears in his eyes. Aithusa wanted to call out to him, wanted to tell him she loved him, wanted to see him smile and forget his own pains. His friend was gone. Dead. Merlin was abandoned and alone. So was Aithusa. But not anymore.

 _Father_.

Aithusa wanted to tell him she loved him, wanted to see him smile and forget his own pains—she wanted to ease her father's anguish. Aithusa's silent lament danced gloomily through the air. She did not want to go, not again. They were supposed to be together forever; neither of them were meant to be alone again.

Aithusa did not wish to abandon her father.

 _I'm sorry._ Aithusa wanted to call out to him. Tell him how much she loved him. But she could not. _I'm sorry._

 _Father._

Her breath faded. Merlin gazed down at his friend, the dragon he had called into this world. It was, perhaps, only fitting for him to be there when she departed from it.

Merlin's tears cascaded down his cheeks, as they had once done when Arthur's breath faded in his arms, long ago. He held Aithusa closer to his chest.

He was so lonesome. His companions' abandonment had left his days darkened. Abandoned and alone. And so Merlin waited and searched for Arthur, for that was all he could do. And one day, just like Aithusa, he could not scream or wail anymore. The aria of his suffering would forever remain silent—but never absent.


End file.
